


His Heart Beats Hollow

by pathera



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pathera/pseuds/pathera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after, it's always Charles's voice that guides him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Heart Beats Hollow

_Between rage and serenity,_ Erik thinks, every time he uses his power.

            The first time that he needs to use his powers for something big—big like moving a satellite dish, big like pulling a submarine from the water, holding it poised over the ocean…except, _no,_ that was _then_ , and this is now, this is _after_ —the phrase comes to him unbidden. _Between rage and serenity_ , the voice tells him patiently, when he jerks and his powers stutter and people turn to look at him, expectant. He is Magneto now, not Erik Lehnsherr—metal bends to his will, _must_ obey his every command if he is to maintain control over his ragged group of mutants. If he cannot make metal do the impossible, he cannot lead them into a war that is brewing on the horizon of the future.

            _Rage and serenity_ , Charles’s voice demands of him, and if it weren’t for the helmet over his head he would wonder if Charles wasn’t out there talking to him.

            He takes a breath, fixing his gaze on his target, spreading the fingers on his outstretched hand. Rage is easy—it is born inside of him. He wonders sometimes if he isn’t a human personification of it, if it isn’t anger that pulses through his veins instead of blood, if it isn’t rage that his body is built upon instead of bone and flesh.

            Serenity is harder to find these days, when it comes with such a bitter taste. He _had_ serenity, he did, and he lost it on a beach in a mix of sand, blood, and blue eyes that were so fucking _disappointed_. Serenity was Charles—the lilt of his accent; the warm puff of his breath over Erik’s skin; that stupid thing he did with his fingers to his temples whenever he used his powers, which was all for show, because Erik _knows_ he doesn’t really need it, he just wants to be overdramatic. All of his serenity is tied up in Charles’s endless optimism, in his belief that he could change the world. Even the memory of his mother, that little moment of peace buried inside of him is lost now, because he thinks of it and then he thinks of Charles, of the way he said there was so much more to him and meant it, because he believes that there are endless possibilities inside of every person he meets.

            There isn’t more to him, Erik knows. He is rage, and Charles is the serenity that he cannot find in himself any more. He lost it with a quarter pressed through a man’s cranium, and a helmet that seals his mind behind an impenetrable wall, and a bullet that he may as well have fired.

            Rage is easiest, because serenity is laced with guilt and grief and a roaring desire to take back things that cannot be undone.

But somehow, with Charles’s voice echoing in his head, Erik finds that place between the two emotions, slots into it, and metal grates and bends before him. And, with practice, it becomes easier. _Rage and serenity_ , his mind will remind him, until it becomes as ingrained as the beat of his heart or the pull of his lungs, until he can crush metal and bring down buildings and move bridges with a wave of his hand. He keeps the mantra in the back of his head, a steady pulse reminding him.

            _Between rage and serenity_ , he thinks, always, and it is a place that feels a lot like sorrow.


End file.
